


Years

by providentialeyes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Animal Death, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Boot Humping, Coming In Pants, Deepthroating, Fluff, Hunters & Hunting, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Play Fighting, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Rating will go up, Reconciliation, Requited Crush, Snowballing, Wrestling, i always forget that one my bad, scram i guess, so if that bothers you, uh okay so arthur is pretty tipsy and john is sober, very brief mention of rape that never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-09-25 20:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: John startles when the older man’s arm comes up and squeezes John lightly, Arthur’s hand curling around the cap of John’s shoulder.John’s expression smooths in surprise and he freezes, uncertain.They hadn’t touched like this in a long time, years.Their contact tended to be playful or born of irritation, never intimate nor serious.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> part two (the porn lmao) is half written so it should go up soon in the meantime have some fluff

It’s only appropriate that John manages to piss Arthur off in the wee hours of the older man’s birthday.

The drinking had been oddly light, for their kind of celebration, but funds were low, and booze stock even lower.

So Arthur, having just revealed his plans of going into town this afternoon on Mary’s request, was perfectly aware enough to hear John’s scoff.

Tension skyrockets and the conversation lulls.

Arthur’s eyes slowly move from Susan to John, blank in a careful way.

John swallows his fear.

“Problem, Johnny?”

“Nah,” John says quickly and sits back, waving his hands emphatically, palms towards the ground, “No problems here.”

“You real sure ‘bout that?” Arthur asks lowly.

He knows what John… And other members of camp, think about his relationship with Mary.

It was fine, at first, John was just a kid and frankly didn’t give a shit about Arthur’s love life at the time.

Mary was pretty, kind… And rich.

Everyone, in the beginning, assumed it was a plan of some kind, win the girl over, and steal the silk-embroidered boots right off her feet, the gold swaddled pearls from her ears.

But Mary was _nice._

And Arthur fell in love.

Hosea and Dutch would tease Arthur light-heartedly over going soft.

But it was true, Mary softened Arthur.

And then hardened him, when she left for the first time.

And repeated this effect on Arthur’s soul each time following.

Arthur sniffs hard to bite back his anger and turns back to Susan, continuing the conversation.

John’s stomach drops, in relief, he thinks, before he realizes the feeling in his gut?

It’s foreboding.

\--

A year.

Almost.

It’s the longest Mary had ever stuck around, and the longest they’d stayed in one state.

But a year?

It softened Arthur until he was more malleable than a house cat lazing in the afternoon sun.

Then she left.

And Arthur hardened in a way he hadn’t before.

There was a kind of finality to the way it ended this time, though John could never be sure.

John steers clear of Arthur for about the first week, the older man radiating ire, a big ol’ ‘don’t fuck with me’ aura about him.

And then he gets sad, and John watches his friend fall to a low point.

A trench, really.

The older man is sitting on the edge of the cliff, watching across the canyon to the forest on the other side.

Obviously watching something, but nothing John can see.

He slowly walks up to stand a few feet behind and to the side of his friend.

“Arthur,” John says quietly, “You up to eatin’ yet?”

Arthur’s head lifts and turns enough to look over John, eyes catching on the bowl of potatoes and venison in John’s hands.

“Ain’t gonna force you,” John mutters, “But I think you oughta.”

Arthur’s hollow gaze lifts to John’s and searches the younger man in a way that makes John feel frozen.

The lack of liveliness in Arthur’s blue eyes comparable to the bleakest winter.

John shuffles forward and carefully crouches to sit on the edge with Arthur, holding the bowl to the side in offering.

Arthur’s fingers slowly grip the rim of the metal bowl and the weight shifts out of John’s hold as the control on the bowl is exchanged.

John makes sure Arthur has it before pulling his hand back and linking his fingers in his lap.

He looks up across the canyon, into the trees and then up further to the aftermath of the sunset, a lilac hue to the sky and the faintest stars appearing above that.

He hears the clinking of the spoon against the bowl as Arthur eats and he counts the stars.

“Thank you, John,” Arthur murmurs after a few minutes.

The younger man blinks in surprise and turns to look at Arthur.

“S’no problem,” John says genuinely.

“Not just…” Arthur sighs heavily, “Not just the food. You’ve been real easy on me lately, I appreciate it.”

“Oh,” John whispers and rubs at his thigh awkwardly, “I mean… You seem to need it.”

Arthur frowns at him for a moment like he wants to protest and then the furrow in his brow smooths and he sighs again, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead and look down at the mostly-empty bowl.

John watches as the bowl is set to the side with a light clinking and Arthur covers his face with both hands, just holding them there for a moment then dropping them roughly into his lap.

“I’ll be over it, soon,” Arthur says firmly.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I do,” Arthur argues, like he’s talking sense, “We’re movin’ soon, and we got shit to do before.”

John frowns at the older man but doesn’t rebut that.

Arthur sighs again, but this time it’s softer, more tired and less frustrated.

Then the older man shifts away and rolls onto his knees with a quiet grunt, standing up with the bowl in one hand, holding the other down to John.

“C’mon.”

\--

Two weeks later, one state over and a couple of hours before dawn Arthur sits down heavily on the log next to John in front of the fire.

Neither of them sleeping well in this new location yet.

“Mornin’,” John manages through the thick of his sleepy voice.

“Mornin’,” Arthur echoes.

Over the last year John and Arthur had grown apart, since they’d been so close Arthur had taken every opportunity to visit his lover, juggling his time between the gang and his woman.

And that was fine and all, John couldn’t blame him.

He didn’t particularly _get it,_ but he didn’t resent Arthur.

He resented Mary, just a little, but was damn aware that wasn’t fair to the woman either.

Though that didn’t smoke out that feeling, still a few embers of detest glowing in his gut.

But it was fine, really, he just _don’t get it._

John’s nose scrunches up for a moment as he recalls Arthur telling him that, years ago, when the older man had chosen to go and see Mary, rather than take John hunting as the younger man had requested.

John had felt annoyed for the most part, but a little bit of him couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

Course he and Arthur fought but they never _fought,_ not like Arthur and Mary did.

They never had disputes on morals and mightiness of faith and propriety.

And yeah, John didn’t _get_ Mary, or _get_ why Arthur was so besotted with the woman.

But Mary didn’t _get_ them, neither.

The gang, their life, how hard it was to break the bad habits they’d grown into.

Arthur had tried, John had been witness.

And, hell, John had tried to, when he’d seen Arthur start taking paces off the easiest path.

They’d both turned to knocking out men when robbing them, rather than shooting them down.

Leaving witnesses tied up in moderate-traffic places rather than abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

John reaches up and rubs his cheek lightly after finishing off his coffee.

“You wanna go huntin’?” John asks quietly.

Sees Arthur lean away slightly in shock.

“The two of us?” Arthur asks incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“Huh,” Arthur rubs at his mouth and returns to his slouch, elbows on his knees, “You ain’t asked me that in a long time.”

“You stopped sayin’ yes,” John mutters.

“Well,” Arthur huffs, “_Yes,_ then.”

“You ain’t gotta, if you don’t wanna,” John says bitterly.

Arthur’s quiet for a moment and John rubs harder at his cheek, frustrated that they can’t seem to _connect_ anymore, haven’t in a long time.

“I want to,” Arthur says slowly.

“You don’t sound real sure ‘bout that.”

“Give me a break, John,” Arthur grumbles, “I’m bein’ receptive.”

John’s quiet for a moment then glances at the older man curiously.

“Receptive?”

“I’m bein’ agreeable,” Arthur explains.

“Hm.”

“Where you wanna go?”

“Those woods Hosea was talkin’ 'bout. Up the mountain.”

“For elk?”

“Or bucks, either.”

“You ever get the trigger loose on your rifle?”

“No,” John sighs, “I forgot ‘bout that, damn.”

“S’fine,” Arthur says gently, “Borrow one.”

“Could use a bow,” John says contemplatively.

Arthur scoffs quietly.

“Hey,” John bites out, shoving at Arthur lightly, “Better with it than you.”

“When do you want to go?” Arthur asks instead of acknowledging his shortcomings.

“Up to you, really.”

“S’nothin’ happenin’ today.”

John looks over his shoulder to the East and frowns at the sky where it’s getting lighter.

“We oughta leave soon, then.”

“Go get the horses ready,” Arthur says and stands slowly, “I’ll take the harder job of wakin’ up Dutch to let him know.”

John snorts and raises his hands to mockingly bow to Arthur.

“What a brave man you are.”

“Damn right.”

\--

There’s a necessity of being quiet while hunting.

Stalking through the pines twenty yards to Arthur’s left with bow in hand, arrow notched.

They have to be aware of each other, the terrain, and any possible prey simultaneously.

John slacks at it, and is startled by Arthur’s gun firing off.

He looks over quickly to see the older man aiming into the shadows of the forest.

There’s the sound of hooves slipping on leaves and then a heavy thump follows.

\--

They load the broken-down buck onto the back of their horses and start riding out to the trail that leads down the mountain.

It’s mid-afternoon and the sun’s blaring down on them.

John rubs at the nape of his neck where sweat is collecting.

His face feels flushed, and his nose itches with the beginnings of a sunburn.

Arthur slows down to be next to John and the younger man looks down at him curiously from atop Old Boy.

“Don’t think we’re gonna make it back to camp ‘fore dark,” Arthur says.

John can see the older man’s cheeks are pinking from the sun also.

“I think we can,” John says, considering, he looks back to the trail, “If we go down and follow the river instead of stickin’ to this.”

“Hm,” Arthur scratches at the scruff on his jaw and shrugs, “Alright.”

\--

They do make it to camp before dark, just barely.

Pearson comes to help them unload the buck and thanks them enthusiastically before setting about preparing the meat for drying.

Arthur and John go back down to the river to wash off the blood.

John kneels on the bank and cups the cool water in his palms, bringing them up to his face and groaning in relief when the cold soothes his heated cheeks.

He hears Arthur snort next to him and lowers one hand to slosh water in Arthur’s direction.

“Hey!” Arthur yelps and John feels the side of his shirt get drenched as the older man retaliates.

John lowers his other hand to look at Arthur, eyes narrowed, the older man is watching him cautiously.

“... John,” Arthur says threateningly, “You do what I’m thinkin’ you’re ‘bout to and I’m gonna toss your ass in.”

John sniffs and considers, but really he was planning to dip into the water anyway and try to cool off.

So he dunks both hands in and tosses up as much water as he can, right at Arthur’s face.

The older man reels back, dripping wet, and shoves back the hair hanging in his face before lunging and tackling John into the water.

John barely gets a squawk out before grabbing his nose and pinching it closed.

The water envelopes them and everything goes dark but Arthur’s arms are around his waist and he’s not as scared as he could be.

They wrestle under the current for a bit before John’s arm slams into a rock and he has to fight his instinct to gasp, desperately squeezing Arthur’s shoulder, trying to let the older man know.

Arthur’s hands move to his hips and the older man pulls them both up until they’re standing, John wobbling and immediately letting go to grab his arm.

“Christ,” John hisses, gasping for air and prodding at the tender flesh.

“Shit, John,” Arthur says and his hand moves under John’s elbow, gently cupping and lifting the younger man’s arm, “Sorry.”

“S’fine, but damn,” John huffs and lets Arthur shove up his sleeve to check his arm.

“You’re gonna have a bruise tomorrow, I’m sure,” Arthur murmurs and rubs around the edges of the reddening, slowly swelling injury.

John lifts his other hand to shove his dripping hair out of his face and looks up at Arthur, surprised at the genuine guilt and concern on the older man’s face.

“Arthur, it’s fine.”

Arthur looks up from his arm and sighs as he drops John’s arm and pulls back.

“I know that I…” Arthur makes a frustrated noise and swipes the water off his face, “I know I ain’t been great to you, for a long while. Was hopin’ to make that up to you today, at least a little.”

John’s mouth quirks to the side and he sucks in his lower lip, ducking his head.

“We should head back,” John murmurs and pulls the front of his shirt away from his chest where it had been clinging.

“Alright.”

\--

“John, wake up.”

John cringes away from the voice, frowning harshly before opening his eyes slowly, blinking away the blurriness of sleep.

“Come on,” Arthur says and tugs on John’s hand until the younger man is sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“Arthur?” John murmurs, “S’wrong?”

“Nothin’ wrong, just want you to see somethin’.”

\--

John shoves his feet into his boots and follows Arthur through the dark woods.

After a while the older man slows and then stops in front of him and John looks up from trying to watch the ground in order not to trip over anything.

“Fireflies,” John murmurs when his eyes focus on the small clearing, a creek running through the middle and a little rock overhang in the background.

And dozens of little dots of light buzzing in the air.

It’s beautiful, and peaceful, the sound of water trickling down layers of rocks in small waterfalls combined with the scenery, just barely illuminated by the half-moon.

“Wow,” John says, hushed.

“I remember the first time you saw them you got scared,” Arthur chuckles, “When we were far East.”

John huffs quietly and looks up at Arthur, just to find the older man watching him with a funny expression.

“What?”

“Was a long time ago, now.”

“Time flies when you’re on the run,” John jokes quietly but it gets Arthur to snort and look back out to the clearing.

“You drawn this place yet?” John asks.

“Nah. Just found it half-hour ago.”

John’s nose wrinkles and he smiles at Arthur, a bit confused.

“So you came right back and got me?”

Arthur’s quiet for a moment then shrugs slowly.

“Saw the fireflies, thought of you.”

“Huh,” John smiles a little easier, “Well thanks, then.”

“No problem,” Arthur mutters, rubbing the side of his neck awkwardly.

“Should drag some bedrolls out here.”

“Ain’t you cold?”

“Psh,” John pouts dramatically, “You sayin’ you wouldn’t keep me warm?”

Arthur turns to him in surprise, eyes wide.

“S’a joke, Arthur,” John huffs.

“We ain’t shared a bed in years.”

“I’m well aware.”

Arthur studies him for a minute then looks away.

“Thought they came out in summertime,” John murmurs and steps out of the trees into the clearing.

Arthur follows him, shrugging lightly.

John comes to stand at the edge of the creek and looks down, watching the fireflies’ lights being reflected in the water, gold on a blue so dark it’s practically black.

“Why were you out here?” John asks quietly.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well neither could I, not for a while, but we don’t normally take to wanderin’ into the woods in the middle of the night,” John says wryly.

“It’s not the middle of the night,” Arthur grumbles, but John can hear the embarrassment in the older man’s voice, “Almost dawn.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Shut up, John,” Arthur mutters.

\--

“How’s your arm?”

John immediately drops his arm from where he’d been inspecting the bruise and yanks his sleeve down, craning his neck to look up at Arthur where the older man is standing awkwardly, a few paces behind him.

“It’s alright,” John says quickly.

Arthur’s brows furrow and lower in doubt and then guilt.

“Arthur, it’s fine, shit happens, y’know?” John insists, “We was just horsin’ ‘round.”

Arthur sighs and takes the last few steps to be level with John at the edge of the creek, lowering himself onto the grass with a thump.

This little clearing had become a place of their own, both of them drawn to the little grotto.

John kicks his feet lightly in the cool water and looks down as the older man yanks off his boots and socks, rolling up his pantlegs to mirror John.

Sitting on the bank, water up to his mid-calves.

The sun has fallen down behind the trees, only slivers of it filtering into the clearing, dancing on the grass with the swaying of the pines in the wind.

“Wasn’t thinkin’ you’d get back today,” John says quietly.

Arthur had been gone for over a week, with Bill and a few others to retrieve some stolen supplies for a ‘friend’ of Dutch.

“Aw, you miss me, Johnny?” Arthur teases.

John’s nose wrinkles in distaste but he can’t seem to bring himself to deny the accusation.

He turns back to face forward and watches his own feet under the water as he disturbs the pebbles along the bottom of the creek, flipping them over by digging his toes under and lifting.

Arthur doesn’t continue that line of teasing, surprisingly, and they both fall into silence for a few minutes.

John startles when the older man’s arm comes up and squeezes John lightly, Arthur’s hand curling around the cap of John’s shoulder.

John’s expression smooths in surprise and he freezes, uncertain.

They hadn’t touched like this in a long time, years.

Their contact tended to be playful or born of irritation, never intimate nor serious.

John tries to think of the last time he was hugged but no memory comes to the surface.

He can feel his brows furrowing with the conflict in his emotions and Arthur’s arm starts retreating.

“Wait,” John whispers, hoarse with his hesitancy and quick with his desperation.

Arthur’s arm stills over his shoulders and they’re both unmoving for a moment.

“John?” Arthur murmurs.

The younger man swallows thickly and digs his fingers into the grass to lift himself up and shuffle closer to Arthur.

He glances up at the older man’s face nervously but Arthur’s just watching him with a mildly concerned kind of confusion.

John closes his eyes and ducks his head, bracing slightly, unsure how Arthur will react as he leans in and wraps his arms around the older man’s abdomen, pressing his forehead against the exposed skin between Arthur’s jaw and the first button that’s closed over the older man’s sternum.

John’s heart is racing and his breathing feels a little too quick, then Arthur’s other arm comes up and closes the embrace, hand firmly gripping at John’s waist.

John exhales shakily and clenches his fingers in the fabric of Arthur’s shirt, not sure exactly why his eyes are burning like he’s about to cry.

He squeezes Arthur tightly and feels the older man’s chin lower to rest on the crown of his head in response.

“S’okay, John,” Arthur murmurs, voice careful though still a little confused.

John sniffs and scoots closer.

They stay like that for several minutes, just breathing and holding each other tightly.

John slowly pulls away and quickly swipes at his eyes, roughly scrubbing his palms over his face.

Arthur’s fingertips linger on his upper back and then start to move in a soothing line up and down John’s spine.

“You alright?” Arthur whispers.

“Fine,” John says hoarsely and sniffs hard before dropping his hands to his lap.

“You sure?” Arthur asks and moves his hand up under John’s hair to lightly squeeze the nape of the younger man’s neck, “You haven’t done that in… Well, not since you were real young.”

John laughs, short and sharp, almost-soundless.

And absolutely humorless.

“Maybe s’like…” John takes in a shaky breath and leans back into the older man’s touch, “Y’know how when you let your saddle go for a couple months it takes _hours_ to clean?”

“... Sure.”

“But if you do it every couple-a weeks, it only takes a few minutes?”

_“Ah,”_ Arthur murmurs, “Okay, I get it.”

John brings a hand up and rubs at his arm awkwardly.

“Hey,” Arthur says softly and pulls back to lightly grab John’s forearm, “Lemme see.”

John looks up through his lashes to meet Arthur’s eyes then nods once, dropping his gaze to where the outsides of their thighs are almost touching.

Arthur carefully shucks up the younger man’s sleeve and makes an unconscious sound of sympathy as he looks over the deep-purple bruise.

“Healin’ pretty well,” Arthur murmurs, “Not as swollen as when I left.”

“Hurts more though,” John says unthinkingly.

He feels Arthur’s grip on his forearm falter and then squeeze lightly before letting go.

Then the older man lays back on the grass, linking his hands over his stomach and closing his eyes.

“Tired?” John asks, twisting around to look at Arthur.

“Got up real early to make it back ‘fore dark.”

“You weren’t supposed to be back for another day or two, anyhow.”

“Wanted to get back sooner,” Arthur shrugs slightly.

“Aw, you miss me, Artie?” John tries to tease but his voice is a little too thin and serious and it comes out more like an honest question.

One of Arthur’s eyes peeks open then the older man lifts a hand to grab the back of John’s collar and pull him down, John faltering slightly, hands slipping on the grass but Arthur’s grip steadies him.

Lowering the younger man until John’s laying next to him, Arthur’s upper arm cushioning the back of his head.

The older man’s hand curls around to rest on the younger man’s upper chest and John gives in to the urge to hold onto Arthur’s hand with both of his, fidgeting with the older man’s fingers, closing his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

  
“Well, I ain’t had to tie one before,” John bitches quietly, his face turned up and away to make room for Arthur’s hands under his jaw.

“S’not that hard.”

“Did someone _teach_ you?”

“... Well… Yeah.”

John tilts his head to look at Arthur to glare at the older man, only to see Arthur roll his eyes.

The backs of the older man’s knuckles shove up John’s jaw.

John bites the inside of his cheek to keep from complaining any further.

He can tell Arthur’s frustrated, more born of nervousness at this plan, rather than actual annoyance over John’s inability to knot his bow-tie.

“Alright,” Arthur drawls and steps back, smoothing out John’s lapels.

John starts to dip his chin to try and see the bowtie but Arthur’s hand quickly gripping his chin stops him.

John raises a brow at the older man.

“Just leave it alone,” Arthur mutters, “Don’t go fidgetin’ with it, neither.”

Arthur’s gaze flicks around John’s face while the younger man waits to be let go of.

“You shaved?” Arthur asks quietly.

“Dutch told me to,” John explains, just as softly, “Lotsa eligible ladies, wants me to play that role.”

Arthur’s thumb rubs over John’s chin lightly before humming shortly and letting go.

Stepping back.

Finally letting John feel like he can _breathe_ again.

\--

“Hate this shit,” John mumbles around his cigarette, lifting his chin when Arthur offers a lit match.

“You ain’t bad at it,” Arthur says around his own cigarette after lighting John’s, flicking out the match and snuffing it in a knot of the wood railing of the second-story wrap-around, looking down at the courtyard filled with people.

“Not sayin’ it’s hard, just sayin’ I don’t like it.”

“Dozen young misses fawnin’ over you, and you_ don’t_ like it?” Arthur asks incredulously, “I had a blast doin’ this shit at your age.”

John wrinkles his nose at the thought of young Arthur in his position, having to woo the daughters of rich land-owners and trade-heads.

“You’re a funny kid,” Arthur mutters.

“Listen,” John huffs out a cloud of smoke and gestures at his smooth face with the hand delicately holding the cigarette, “I know I look like a kid right now, but you damn well know I ain’t.”

Arthur frowns at him for a moment, a kind of worry in his eyes that John doesn't know how to explain.

Then the older man sighs and bows his head with an exhale of smoke before looking out to the party.

"No... You ain't."

\--

"Arthur," John whispers hurriedly and yanks on the older man's sleeve as he passes before going around the corner.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," He hears Arthur say charmingly before the older man appears around the corner and John bullies him into a dark study, shutting the door near-silently behind them.

"What the hell're you doin'?" Arthur whispers.

"There was… A lady," John says haltingly.

"... A lady."

"She… Kissed me, backed us into a corner and tried to get my hand up her skirt," John whispers, feeling his cheeks burning.

"... Okay?" Arthur says and John can barely see the older man's face, just enough light from the lanterns outside spilling into the room.

"I-I told her she weren't my type and ran away," John says quickly, embarrassment cloying his voice, "I think she was that oil man's daughter."

"Oh boy," Arthur mutters.

"Dutch'll skin me when he finds out," John whispers worriedly.

He hears Arthur sigh and sees the older man lift a hand.

John flinches back, the hard soles of his dress shoes scraping against the wood floor.

"John," Arthur whispers, his hand faltering and then dropping back to his side, "Hey… I wasn't gonna…"

John sniffs and crosses his arms tightly, his gaze lowering to the floor.

"I dunno why I couldn't just…" John whispers.

"You ain't done nothin' like that, have you?" Arthur asks gently.

"Not with a w-"

John's mouth shuts so hard his teeth clack together.

There's a beat of silence.

"A what?" Arthur urges after a moment.

"A woman," John mutters, squeezing his arms tighter in front of his chest.

There's more silence from Arthur.

John fidgets with a seam, trying to keep himself calm.

"We should get back to Dutch," Arthur says hoarsely and John feels his stomach twist.

The older man moves to the door then pauses.

"We're talkin' 'bout this, when we get back to camp."

\--

At the end of the night John ends up driving the wagon back to camp, strikingly sober.

Unlike the rest of them.

He gets them back no problem and untacks the horses, not trusting anyone else to remember.

He tries to slip into his tent unnoticed but Arthur's arm wraps around his shoulders as the older man grabs a bottle of something dark and strong.

Arthur walks them to his tent and John doesn't fuss, not sure what his punishment is about to be.

Whether Arthur's gonna make him swear off men and never let Dutch know.

Or something… Physical, try to beat it outta him like his father.

Arthur nudges John into the tent then follows, tying down the flaps behind them.

John near bites clean through his lip in anxiety as he hovers near Arthur's makeshift table and chair.

Arthur moves and sits across from him, the metal of the cot frame creaking under the older man's weight.

"So," Arthur starts before uncorking the bottle and taking a sip.

He offers it to John and the younger man shakes his head.

Arthur leans back slightly on one hand, his other hand loose around the neck of the bottle, letting it hang between his legs.

"When'd it happen?"

"What?" John whispers.

"Some man… Took advantage of you. When?"

John blinks, a bit stunned.

"Arthur, that…" John tries to get out but his voice cracks with a loss of confidence.

"S'Alright, John," Arthur says smoothly, "I ain't leavin' again. I'll be here for you."

John shakes his head, lifting his hand to tug loose the tie Arthur had so carefully knotted.

"That ain't what happened," John whispers.

Arthur frowns at him in confusion, making a ‘get on with it’ gesture, using the hand holding the bottle.

"It… I weren't forced into it, Arthur."

Arthur's frown deepens before a kind of clarity touches his expression.

"Oh."

John sits on the edge of the crate and crosses his arms, hugging himself.

"So you… Don't like women?" Arthur edges around the obvious.

"Dunno," John says shortly.

"Didn't like the one from tonight, though."

"... Not really."

"Hm."

John rubs at the bruise of his arm under the layers of fabric and carefully doesn't meet Arthur's eyes.

"So you've fucked a fella or…?"

"No."

"Not that far, then."

"Other way 'round," John mutters, voice thick with embarrassment.

He knows what most men around think of that, he knows how the gang, even, talk about that.

"... Oh."

John scoots further back on the table.

Arthur doesn't seem disgusted, or angry.

Just surprised.

John rubs at his arm a little harder, focusing on the ache.

"Hey," Arthur says sharply and John feels his heart stop.

"Stop messing with your arm like that, John, I ain't blind."

John quickly drops his hands to his lap, still not looking up.

A few minutes pass of silence besides the light sloshing of liquid in the bottle as Arthur sips.

"Was it one time?"

"... No."

"How the hell'd I miss this?" Arthur mutters, more to himself than to John.

"You were on the nice side o' town, with Mary," John murmurs, "And I was on the other side."

"So you…" Arthur clears his throat and sets the bottle to the side on a stool, "Did that a lot, then?"

"Decent amount," John whispers.

"And you like it?" Arthur asks, like he can't quite grasp the idea, "Bein' fucked?"

John squeezes his hands together and nods.

"You do… Other things, with these men?"

"Yeah."

"Like… Things involvin' mouths?"

John can't help but snort mildly at the phrasing.

"Yeah," John sighs, "Yes, Arthur."

"Your mouth or theirs?" The older man asks lowly.

John blinks at the change in tone and looks up to see Arthur watching him, gaze warm.

"Both..." John says slowly, "Mostly mine."

Arthur hums quietly then looks away, staring at the rim of the bottle.

"You like _that_ too?" Arthur whispers.

John studies the older man silently, taking in the situation.

And more importantly the _feeling_ he's getting from Arthur.

"You want my mouth, Morgan?" John asks quickly, the only way he knows he can get it out without losing bravery.

Arthur looks up at him again, stares into his eyes seriously.

"You want my cock, Marston?" The older man asks roughly.

John takes a sharp breath in and feels his gut clench.

He's wanted Arthur for years, used to bite into his pillow or hand to muffle the older man's name.

Used to seek out the men who looked the closest to Arthur, had similar builds, voices like Arthur's.

Would get them to fuck him from behind while John would close his eyes and picture Arthur.

"Yeah," John whispers, fear of rejection twisting his heart as he slips off the crate and onto his knees, watching Arthur cautiously as he crawls closer.

The older man's eyes don't leave his until John is kneeling between his boots, when Arthur takes in the younger man’s position.

"You sure?" Arthur asks quietly.

"Are you?" John whispers thinly.

"Yeah," Arthur says and leans back a bit, opening his legs further to make room for John.

John shuffles closer and slips the suspenders free, distantly wondering where Arthur's coat went.

He untucks Arthur’s shirt before working open the buttons, carefully not looking at the older man’s face, instead watching the rise and fall of Arthur’s chest.

He pushes the shirt open and Arthur takes over, pulling it the rest of the way off.

John hooks his fingers under the hem of Arthur’s undershirt and pushes that up, exposing the older man’s chest and his hands hover briefly, wanting to _touch_, to drag his fingers through the hair on Arthur’s chest, to curl his fingers around the soft flesh covering Arthur’s ribs, to cup the older man’s chest and rub the pads of his thumbs over Arthur’s nipples.

He pulls back, instead, because, ultimately, this isn’t about what he wants.

He sits heavily on his calves as he undoes Arthur’s trousers and the older man yanks the undershirt off over his head.

John tugs the pants out of the way, followed by Arthur’s drawers, until the older man’s cock is laying in the crook of Arthur’s hip.

John swallows thickly and lifts his gaze, looking up into Arthur’s eyes through his lashes.

His hands have settled on Arthur’s knees and he can feel his fingers trembling.

Arthur’s watching him, eyes warm with lust and alcohol.

John swallows again and pulls his hands away to tuck his hair behind his ears, gaze dropping to the grass between his knees.

“You havin’ second thoughts?” Arthur asks quietly and John’s gaze snaps back up.

“No!” John says sharply then cringes away slightly, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth.

A moment passes of the two of them silent, John listening carefully for anyone outside the tent.

“I was waitin’ for you,” John mutters.

“For me?”

“For permission.”

“... Oh,” Arthur says hesitantly, and John can hear the confusion in the older man’s tone.

John presses his lips together then uncovers his mouth moving that hand up, curling it around a bar in the cot frame, a few inches below Arthur’s crotch.

“Can I?” John whispers.

He sees the muscles in Arthur’s thighs shift.

“Go ‘head,” Arthur murmurs, almost tentative.

John glances up briefly then moves his hand up slowly, framing the bulge of Arthur’s balls behind the fabric with his fingers before sliding up.

He stares, for a minute, and he knows it.

He’s dreamt of this for years, imagined all the ways Arthur’s cock might look hard.

It’s perfect, and not even fully hard yet.

Thick and not too long, but he knows he’ll feel it in his throat tomorrow.

Dusty-brown hair framing the base as he curls his fingers around Arthur’s cock, not quite able to close them.

John lets out a little shaky noise, then moves his other hand to cover his mouth, feeling his cheeks burning at how bad he wants it.

Knowing that if Arthur looks down he’ll see the bulge in John’s dress pants.

John lightly explores Arthur’s cock, knows he’s going too slow for most fellas but God, he wants to savor it.

If he never gets this opportunity again he wants to burn the memory in his brain and take it to his grave.

Arthur lets out a quiet grunt when John pulls back his foreskin and brushes a finger over the head.

John uncovers his mouth and lifts up onto his knees, shuffling as he spits between his palm and Arthur’s cock, hearing the older man’s sharp inhale.

“Jesus,” Arthur mutters.

John tenses briefly, and thinks about the kind of women Arthur normally gets with, and how none of them would probably approach this like he is.

It makes him want to change his behavior, to be softer and more coy, not desperate and so wanting that he doesn’t give a damn about what little propriety he has.

He smooths the spit over Arthur’s length and wonders how red his cheeks are, feeling himself blushing to the tips of his ears.

John curls the fingers of his free hand into the fabric of his trousers, gently tugging, trying to make his own arousal less obvious, unsure if Arthur’s already noticed or not.

He leans forward and press his lips to the side of Arthur’s length as he moves his hand back down to the base.

He can feel his own spit and the heat of Arthur’s cock against his cheek as he mouths up to the head, lowering himself just enough that he can look up at Arthur as he presses the flat of his tongue against the underside of the head.

Arthur breathes in sharply then lets it out with a deep groan, watching John through heavy-lidded eyes.

John feels a pang of heat in his gut and continues to watch the older man as he opens his mouth wider and takes Arthur in.

Slowly, until he feels the pressure in his throat, the creeping sense of danger in his brain that thrills him.

“Goddamn,” Arthur hisses.

John makes a small, desperate sound, muffled in his throat, closing his eyes when he sees Arthur studying him.

He bobs his head lightly, falling into familiar motions, pushing himself to take Arthur’s cock deeper into his throat.

He feels Arthur move and then a pressure on the bulge in his pants and startles, opening his eyes quickly to look up at Arthur, pulling back and then looking down.

Seeing the toe of Arthur’s boot pressing down on his cock.

He makes a strangled noise and grabs Arthur’s ankle tightly with both hands, trying to push the older man’s boot away.

“Sorry,” John says desperately, “Ignore it.”

“Ignore it?” Arthur echoes roughly.

“Just,” John pushes at the older man’s leg until Arthur slowly moves his leg, “Close your eyes.”

Arthur looks at him skeptically then closes his eyes, leaning back onto his hands.

John takes a deep breath and then leans back in, wrapping his fist around the base of Arthur’s cock.

“Pretend I’m a lady or somethin’,” John mutters before taking Arthur’s cock back into his mouth, closing his eyes as well.

He works back up to taking Arthur as far in as he can before hollowing his cheeks and slowly sucking off to the head.

He startles again, lighter this time, as Arthur’s fingers thread into his hair.

John opens his eyes and looks up at Arthur who’s watching him intently.

“I’m not gonna waste this and pretend it’s anybody but _you_ makin’ me feel this good,” Arthur says roughly.

John stills and studies Arthur’s expression, pulling off.

“But you’re not…” John whispers.

“I’m not?” Arthur asks, voice tinted with amusement.

“I’ve never seen you even _look_ at a man,” John says quietly.

“John,” Arthur sighs and shifts his legs, nudging John’s knee with the toe of his boot, “I’ve been in love with Mary for years, I was always loyal.”

John blinks, trying to process.

“So are you two… Over?” John asks hesitantly, “Or is this the end of you bein’ loyal?”

Arthur’s fingers comb through John’s hair for a moment before tugging lightly, tilting the younger man’s head back.

“Loyal to somethin’,” Arthur murmurs.

John can hear the uncertainty in the older man’s voice and carefully watches Arthur as he lets his jaw go slack, mouth falling open, tongue hanging out slightly.

Feeling a bit like a fool, until Arthur’s fingers tighten in his hair and the older man pulls him closer, until the tip of his cock is resting on John’s tongue.

John lets go of Arthur’s cock and rests his hands in fists on his thighs.

Arthur searches his eyes for a few seconds then slowly guides John’s mouth further down his cock with the grip in John’s hair.

John closes his eyes, feeling his chest rising and falling a touch too fast as he opens his mouth wider, feeling Arthur’s cock drag over his tongue.

He can’t quite prevent the small whimper that escapes him, twisting the fabric of his trousers roughly in between his fingers as he fights the urge to gag.

He feels Arthur hesitate to go any deeper and fights the grip on his hair just enough that Arthur can see he _wants_ it.

"Shit," Arthur mutters then slowly pushes his cock in further.

John carefully slows his breathing and peeks open one eye to see Arthur's lips parted, cheeks flushed as he fucks into John's mouth.

John makes a helpless, needy sound, deep in his throat and Arthur's eyes move up from his mouth to meet his.

Then Arthur shifts his legs so the toe of his boot is back against John's cock, pressing down lightly.

John whimpers around the older man's length and closes his eyes, a rising feeling of humiliation in him as his hips jerk into the pressure.

"Shh,” Arthur strokes his hair, grips at the crown, pulls John back until the head of his cock is resting on John's lower lip.

John tries to catch his breath feeling Arthur's cock dripping on his tongue.

His hips rock up against the older man's boot and he reaches down to grab Arthur's lower leg, squeezing tightly.

"God," Arthur groans and pulls John's head closer until his cock is deep in the younger man's mouth, edging on dipping into John's throat.

John feels his eyes watering as his breathing is restricted, feels his cock jerking in his trousers, rocks harder against Arthur's boot, clutching at the older man's leg.

Arthur pulls his head away just as John's starting to feel dizzy.

John shakes his head and fights the grip, wanting that sensation again, wanting the ache in his lungs and the sense of danger battling against his trust in Arthur.

"Please?" John asks hoarsely, opens his eyes, pleading as he feels himself leaking in his drawers.

He's so close.

He's _so close._

This was supposed to be about Arthur but fuck, he's selfish and he knows it.

Arthur's fingers curl tighter in his hair and pull him back in, guiding his cock into the heat of John's mouth and then John's throat.

John fights the urge to struggle and feels stifled whines, stuck in his chest with his throat stoppered by Arthur's cock.

John drops his hand to the toe of Arthur's boot and pushes down as his hips twitch up, come pulsing out of his cock and soaking through his drawers and trousers.

He pulls back and Arthur lets him go.

He leans away from Arthur's boot and cups himself through the mess, looking down to see his come dripping down the front of his crotch.

His cock gives another few, weak pulses and he whimpers, cupping himself tighter and feeling the mess cling to his palm and fingers.

He slowly looks up at Arthur to see the older man watching him with one hand choking the base of his length.

John leans back in, opening his mouth as he rubs himself lightly through his pants.

It's making the mess worse but he doesn't even care.

He wants to be a mess, he wants to feel filthy in front of Arthur.

Arthur's expression is strained as he presses the tip of his dripping cock to John's tongue.

"Johnny," The older man says roughly, "Not gonna… Keep your mouth open."

John's eyes widen slightly and he lets his mouth drop open more.

Arthur's hand strokes up his cock, grip tight, twisting just under the head.

John feels the foreskin pushing against his lower lip and presses his tongue up to lick over the slit, catching some of the pre come.

Arthur moans quietly, desperately, struggles to keep his eyes open as his cock jerks in his hand and John feels the first pulse of come coat his tongue.

He presses down on his cock and whines quietly, looking up at the older man with half-lidded eyes.

So _damn_ satisfied to finally taste the older man.

He's dreamt of this for so fucking long.

He keeps his mouth open wide even as Arthur's come spills out, down the sides of his chin and drips onto the hand covering his cock.

He swallows what's in his mouth, the wet sound of his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth suddenly loud in the quiet tent.

Arthur's fingers comb through his hair as the older man studies him then pulls John back and up, until the younger man is half in his lap as he leans in and drags his tongue up John's chin.

Cleaning up his own mess.

"Fuck," John mutters and turns his head to press their mouths together, seeking out Arthur's tongue, chasing the older man's taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that took longer than i thought my b   
probably going to be updating a few fics a long with posting a few new ones in the next couple days uwu
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/GwennolMarie)   
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